Falling for a Stranger (24 page)

"Actually, she just wants to make sure she doesn't end up in the same kind of accident," he said, deciding not to mention Megan for the moment. "She told me that Valdez has a long reach. And that he has reason to dislike her. I don't want my questions through you to trigger anything. That's why I need this done off the record. My name can't come into it. There are people who know that Ria and I were together on the island. I can't put her in jeopardy."

Emma sighed. "I thought she was so nice, but now she sounds like a lot of trouble. Can't you find anyone trouble-free to hang out with?"

"Not anyone this beautiful, sexy or interesting," he said. "Some people are worth a little trouble. And look who's talking—a serial arsonist was stalking you when you and Max fell for each other. Talk about trouble. That word should be your middle name, Emma."

"Very funny," she said, making a face at him.

"And true," Max said.

She shot her fiancé a pointed look. "Let me give you a tip, Max, agreeing with my brother instead of me is not the secret to a happy life."

"Got it," Max said. "What about me helping your brother?"

"That would be appreciated."

"I have a friend who should be able to help," Max said. "And I understand the need for discretion. He won't ask why I'm asking, because we do have international criminals come through San Francisco. But even if he did, I would not mention your name."

"I appreciate that," Drew said.

"I actually have to go into work for an hour," Max said.

"What? I thought we were going to the movies," Emma protested.

"Sorry, babe. I got a call. Potential witness. It won't take long," Max said, giving her a kiss. "I'll make you dinner tonight."

"I've seen you cook. We'll go out," Emma said.

Max grabbed his keys off the table. "I'll be in touch, Drew."

"Thanks."

As Max left, Drew found himself facing Emma's inquisitive gaze. She was not going to let him off as easily as Max.

"I can't tell you anything else," he said.

"You can tell me whether or not you're in love with Ria," Emma said.

His gut tightened at her question. Usually when Emma asked about his dates or his relationships, he could answer quickly and easily, but not this time.

"Well," Emma said, a thoughtful gleam in her eyes. "I think I have my answer."

"She's important to me," he said. "That's all I can say right now."

"What about Megan? She's raising her, right? Do you really want to take on a ready-made family?"

"I don't know. I'm not thinking that far ahead. But Megan is a great kid."

"I'm sure she is. And I'm sure you'd make a great father figure, if that's what you want. It would certainly be a different life than the one you've been living."

"Change is good, right?"

"Yes, just be careful. I don't want you to get hurt, Drew."

"I know you don't. You hate to see anyone in the family hurt."

"And you're the same way with your friends. I know you want to protect Ria and Megan, but if they have any kind of relationship with an international criminal, I think you're out of your league."

"That's why I came here for help."

"I'm glad you did. Don't do anything else until Max gets back to you. I know you don't like to be patient, but try."

"I will," he said. "Anyway, I have to stop by Grandpa's house, so I should go."

"What are you doing over there? Talking about the boat?"

"No, he's having some car trouble. I said I'd take a look. With all his problems with Grandma, the last thing he needs is a car that's not working."

* * *

His grandfather was in the driveway in front of his garage, his head under the hood of his 1999 BMW when Drew arrived.

"Find the problem?" Drew asked.

His grandfather started, pulled his head out from under the hood and gave him an annoyed look. "You're late."

"Ten minutes."

"Late is late," Patrick said, never one to tolerate errors of any kind.

"I'm here now. Can I take a look?"

"It's the starter. It has to be."

"Do you mind?" he asked, coming up next to him.

"Suit yourself. I have to get back inside anyway. Ellie will be wanting her lunch."

"Go ahead. I'll check things out."

As his grandfather left, Drew examined the engine. He'd always enjoyed working on engines, whether they belonged to cars or planes. After a few minutes, he found the problem, and it was not the starter.

He walked into the house and found his grandfather in the kitchen—a room that looked like it had been hit by a tornado. There were pots and pans on all the burners, as well as on the counters. There were half-eaten plates of food heaped on top of each other, glasses filled with an assortment of liquids. Most of the cupboard doors were open, as if someone had just ransacked them.

"Don't just stand there," his grandfather said gruffly. "Help me." Patrick began rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwasher.

Drew moved over to the kitchen table and grabbed a couple of dishes, taking them over to the sink. "How long has it been since you cleaned up?" he couldn't help asking.

"About an hour."

"What?" he asked in disbelief. "All this in an hour?"

"That's how long I was outside trying to get the car to start. Now you know why late is late."

"Sorry," he muttered. "So this is Grandma's handiwork."

"She forgets where she is, what she's doing. And some days she's filled with this almost frenetic energy. She's moving fast, trying to do a thousand things at once, like she's afraid if she doesn't get them done right away, she'll forget. Only she does forget, and then there's a thousand things all undone."

"I didn't know it was this bad," he said slowly. "But you have some help, right?"

"Sure, we have help, but it's impossible and ridiculously expensive to have anyone else here twenty-four hours a day." He paused, his eyes filling with pain. "Do you think I want to put her in a home?" He shook his head, biting down on his bottom lip. "I have loved that woman for almost sixty years of my life. I have lived with her, slept with her, eaten with her, bathed with her. I know her better than I know myself. And she used to know me." His jaw tightened. "She used to know me," he repeated, then tossed the sponge into the sink and walked out of the room.

Drew felt like he'd just been hit by a train. He didn't know what was more disturbing—that his grandmother was losing her mind, or that his gruff grandfather was capable of breaking down and being very, very human.

He let out a sigh and then finished cleaning the kitchen. He was just starting the dishwasher when his grandmother wandered into the room.

She wore a fancy silver-sequined dress and high heels, and she had a ton of make-up on her face. "I'm ready to go," she said. She stopped when she saw Drew. "Where's Patrick? We have to get to the dance."

"Uh, he must be changing," Drew replied, never sure how to talk to his grandmother when she was not herself.

"And he used to say I was the slow one," she said, sitting down at the kitchen table. "What are you doing here, Drew?"

The fact that she recognized him made him feel marginally better. Despite the odd outfit, maybe she could have a normal conversation.

"I came to help Grandpa fix the car."

"Is it broken?" she asked.

"Yeah, little bit. Can I get you something to eat?"

"I'm sure there will be food at the party. The Waltons throw the most beautiful dinner parties."

He'd never heard of the Waltons. "Well, maybe you'd like a sandwich now, just in case dinner is late."

"That might be nice. I am hungry. I don't think I've eaten in a while. Maybe some toast," she said.

"Coming right up."

He popped two pieces of bread in the toaster. His grandmother picked up the newspaper lying on the table and let out a small gasp. She put a hand to her heart.

"Oh, dear. Oh, dear," she said.

He walked around the table to see what she was looking at. "What's wrong?"

She didn't answer him, just stared at the picture.

He read the headline for the article, "Winthrop Building Gets A Second Life". An artist's rendering of a new skyscraper by the Embarcadero accompanied the article. "Winthrop," he murmured, the name sounding familiar. "Wasn't that where there was a big fire in the late seventies?"

"They're going to build it again," she murmured. "They can't do that." She looked up at Drew, panic in her blue eyes. She grabbed his arm. "They can't do that. You can't let them. Not after all this time. People will find out."

"Find out what?" he asked in confusion.

"All the secrets," she hissed. She jumped to her feet and started backing away from him.

He took a step forward, but she put up her hand. "Stay away from me. You stay away from me. I'm not going to tell you. I promised."

The kitchen door opened, and his grandfather strode in. "What's going on?"

"He knows about the Winthrop building," she said to Patrick. "He could tell everyone."

"That's Drew, honey, your grandson," Patrick said in a rough but soothing voice. "Let me take you into the living room. We'll sit down and have some tea."

"Oh, okay," she mumbled, as Patrick led her out of the kitchen.

Drew took a breath and then slowly let it out. What the hell had just happened?

His grandfather came back into the room a moment later. "You should go home, Drew."

"What was that about?"

"I don't know," he said wearily. "It's something new every day."

He could see that his grandfather was at the end of his rope, but his vague answer bothered him. "She was reading the newspaper, and she just freaked out. Started talking about the Winthrop building."

"They're rebuilding it, I guess," Patrick said. "I saw it on the news the other day."

"Why would that upset Grandma?"

"We lost two firefighters when that building went down. Your grandmother knew one of the wives. She was distraught for days. We all were. It was a long time ago, but for some reason your grandmother seems to remember things from thirty years ago but can't recall what happened ten minutes ago."

"We need to get you more help," Drew said. "You can't do this alone."

"Your dad doesn't want me to put her in a facility."

"Then he needs to help you figure out a better way to take care of her."

"We're doing okay most days."

He gave his grandfather a disbelieving look. "I just finished cleaning the kitchen, and before she got upset, she told me you were going to a dinner party. It's the middle of the day, and she's wearing a sequined gown. That's not doing okay."

Patrick shrugged. "Thanks for coming over. I'll just take the car to a mechanic."

"That you don't have to do. I can fix the car. I just need to run down to the auto shop and pick up a part. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"I'll leave the garage door open," his grandfather said. "Maybe best not to come inside again. Ellie has had all the excitement she needs for a day."

"No problem."

He left the house, feeling incredibly sad but also angry at the illness that had literally stolen his grandmother away from him. When her brain was right, she was the person he'd loved all his life, but when the chemistry changed, she was a stranger. He supposed that was probably the way she felt, too. She just couldn't tell the difference, but he could.

How his grandfather handled it day in and day out, he didn't know, but he obviously needed more help. And he needed to talk to his father about it, too. Jack might not want to see his mother in a home, but he also wouldn't have wanted to see the kitchen the way Drew had found it.

And what about his grandmother's increasingly frequent bouts of disorientation? Her memories of terrible events that seemed to have no basis in reality—or did they?

She'd gotten agitated when she'd seen the story on the Winthrop building, and the fire that had burned down the original building had taken the lives of two firefighters. So the building had meant something to her. But what was the promise she'd made and to who? Was his grandmother lying? Were her words caused by the delusions of her illness? Or had she been involved in something shady a very long time ago?

Damn! Now he was the crazy one. His grandparents were the most honorable people he knew. He needed to stop trying to find some truth, some reality, in his grandmother's words. He had to find a way to love her the way she was now and let go of the person she used to be.

But that was all for another time. Today, he would fix their car, and be glad there was at least one problem in his life that he could resolve.

Chapter Eighteen

Ria got home from her last sailing lesson just after five o'clock on Sunday. Judging by the loud music coming from the bedroom, it was obvious that Megan was awake.

She knocked on the door, then pushed it open. Megan sat on the middle of the bed, computer in front of her, music so loud she was surprised the neighbors hadn't complained.

"Can you turn it down?" Ria asked.

"What?" Megan yelled.

She waved her hand toward the speakers.

Megan reached over and switched off the music. "Sorry. How was sailing?"

"It was fine," she said, sitting down on a corner of the bed, not willing to admit that thoughts of Drew had distracted her all day. She hadn't been able to enjoy the water the way she normally did, because her mind kept darting from joyous memories of being in Drew's arms to worrying thoughts about Drew's conversation with his friend. She wanted to believe that Tim's innocent questions wouldn't trigger interest by the wrong people on the island, but how could she be sure? She had no idea who Tim had spoken to.

"Tory," Megan said. "Is something wrong?"

"No, just a little tired," she said, not wanting to put her negative thoughts on to Megan. "How was your day?"

"I slept for most of it. Now I'm working on my essay. It's due tomorrow."

"This is the one about the Coast Guard?"

"About Drew," Megan said. "And I want to hear all about your date last night. I can't believe he took you up in a helicopter."